


Your Attention Please

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Also Makkachin - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Bad Jokes, Dancing, Dating, Drinking, M/M, Misunderstandings, Puppies, TV News, Victor Nikiforov Is In Love, YOI Trumps Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 20:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17587745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Victor has a plan. He's finally moving from the evening broadcast to the morning show, and from there, he's sure to gonational. Live television is his passion - the drama, the unpredictability!So that explains how he gets caught off his guard by Intrepid Young Reporter Yuuri Katsuki.





	Your Attention Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rebekaknocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebekaknocks/gifts).



> This is my story for the YOI Charity Action (YOI Trumps Hate) held last year. :) My winning bidder was rebekaknocks, who prompted me for a newscaster AU with Yuuri as a new reporter. I hope everyone enjoys it!

Victor sinks into the makeup chair and closes his eyes as Georgi buzzes around him, tutting to himself at the state of Victor’s bare face. Yes, the bags under his eyes are heinous today, but Victor can’t take all the credit for that - after all, it was Cao Bin who decided to spontaneously change careers on them last week. 

It had thrown Channel Five for a loop. None of them were even aware that Cao Bin had a secret second job as a successful Twitch streamer. Victor, certainly, would never have guessed.

After five years comfortably ensconced in the six PM time slot, Victor had only a day to prepare himself to take over the morning show. It was thrilling. It was sure to be his next step toward going national. It was also not enough time to properly adjust his sleep schedule.

“Can you fix me?” He asks Georgi playfully, but the only response is a string of muttered Russian. It’s fine. Georgi may fuss, but his skill with a brush and a bit of mineral powder is well-proven, and he’s taken on worse than Victor’s four-hours-of-sleep circles and come out on top before. 

There’s only one ingredient missing from the magic potion Victor will need to transform from A Very Tired Man to The Face of Channel Five, and he can smell its alluring scent wafting down the hallway. He inhales deeply, trying to pre-absorb the caffeine through his nostrils like a junkie. 

Yakov’s assistant, Kenjirou, jogs into the dressing room with a whole tray of lattes, and Victor reaches out, making an eager grabby motion until the kid slides a cup into his waiting hand.

He barely has time to suck down that first rich, earthy sip before Georgi is in front of him, brush and palette at the ready, and Victor’s morning metamorphosis begins. 

It’s only takes Georgi a few minutes, a flurry of light touches here and there along Victor’s cheeks, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow as he’s immersed in a cloud of cosmetic and fragrance, and then Georgi barks, “Look up,” and Victor raises his eyes to the ceiling as the last touch of mascara is applied, darkening his pale lashes to pop on the screen. 

Georgi puts the brush away with a final flourish and eyes Victor speculatively. “Good?” he asks. Victor pastes on his best camera-ready smile in response, and Georgi nods, satisfied. Good.

There’s a light tap on the door, and it swings open. “Decent?” Chris calls - something he consistently does _after_ opening the dressing room door. “I’ve got someone for you two to meet.” 

Victor slides from the chair as Chris pushes inside, a second man towed along in his wake. “Yuuri, this is Victor, our morning show anchor. Victor, Yuuri will be taking on our rotating reporter role as we rearrange everyone to fill the gaps.”

Yuuri looks young and jumpy, barely out of college with dark hair and warm eyes, and he seems to look at everything in the room _but_ Victor as he accepts Victor’s proffered handshake. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, eyes dashing from Victor’s face to the chair to the floor.

Victor squeezes his hand briefly and gives him the Smile (™) anyway. “Welcome to the team,” he says. His own first day, the lead anchor had looked down the bridge of his nose at Victor, like he was a particularly foul breed of scum clinging to the hem of his pants. On the list of people Victor doesn’t want to be, that guy is pretty near the top.

Since Yuuri still looks like a hard breeze would knock him over, Victor searches for something else to say - he’s bad at comfort, but it’s worth a shot. 

Before he can try, Yakov’s bald head pokes through the open door. “Nikiforov,” he barks. “We need you at the desk in ten minutes! Get your butt out of the makeup chair.”

“Nice to meet you, Yuuri,” Victor says, standing to grab his blazer from the hanger by the door. “Congratulations on joining the team.” He pulls his jacket on while he walks into the studio space. He’s already feeling much more alert, which is a blessing in this business. You never know what might happen once you get in front of that camera. That’s what Victor loves about show business.

He slips through the maze of camera wires and panicked assistants to get to the news desk - squat, grey, and much bigger than would ever be practical for a real office. As he drops into his chair, he nods to Mickey, who only scowls in return. Victor is a morning person, really. He just needs to adjust to the new time slot. Mickey, however, is _not_. Unfortunately, Victor has yet to find a time of day that does make his co-host happy.

He checks his line of sight for the teleprompter and flashes Kenjirou a thumbs up to indicate that it looks good, then checks the clock overhead. Two minutes. Yakov is still pacing around behind the cameras, barking orders and turning dials, and Victor smirks a little when the hot studio lights reflect off the old man’s bald spot. A flustered intern is running around Victor, checking lighting levels one last time to ensure the spotlights won’t wash out Victor’s silvery hair and pale features.

“Heading on air,” Yakov calls out as Victor tucks back a few stray hairs and the intern scurries away from camera view. “Five, four, three…”

Victor folds his hands and smiles picture-perfect at the camera as it pans toward him. “Good morning. I’m Victor Nikiforov, with Channel Five News. Our top story this morning, a grand jury will be convening to determine if charges of corruption will be brought against Mayor Feeley in the coming weeks. But first, former figure skater and presidential hopeful Johnny Weir announced via tweet last night that he does not plan to occupy the White House if elected, referring to the historic residence as ‘gauche’.”

-

It takes another week for Victor to fully adjust to his new morning time slot, but he’s starting to settle in, and Makkachin seems to like this new schedule better as well. He has to drag her out of bed before dawn for their run, which she’s too old to be eager for, but she’s happy to see him back in his office so early each day, and she spends the evenings curled half on top of him on the sofa, snoring away against his chest as they catch up on the nightly programming he used to miss due to work. Though he still has to fill in some gaps on busy weeks with a dog walker, overall the new schedule is better for Victor and Makka both.

Of course, as soon as he gets used to the new routine, Yakov calls him back in. “Celestino’s out sick,” the old man grumbles into his ear. “Food poisoning. I need you to come back and anchor the six PM.”

Makka sighs against his chest and burrows her face into his neck. Victor is warm. He’s content. Poor Makka won’t take well to being disturbed. “Isn’t there someone else you can call in?”

“The only other option is Mickey, and you know perfectly well that I can’t stick him on the desk with Sara.”

Victor winces. The one time Yakov had allowed the twins to co-anchor, they’d gotten a flood of complaints from viewers, most of which involved synonyms for the word “creepy”, though what they were complaining about varied. 

“Fine,” Victor sighs, shifting under Makka’s weight until the poodle groans in complaint. “I’ll be there in twenty.” 

Yakov hangs up without saying thank you. He never says thank you. Despite that, Victor begins the careful process of levering 60 pounds of warm dog off him so that he can get changed back into something suitable for the news desk.

One day, when Yakov insists on a last-minute call like this, he’ll prove the old myth and go on TV naked below the waist. It would be worth the feeling of his butt sticking to the leather chair to see the look on the crew’s faces. 

He makes it to the set in twenty- _five_ minutes, and Yakov gives him a look like each of those extra minutes took a full year off his life. The old man was already bald when Victor started working here, so at least he can’t be blamed for that. 

Georgi sets a new speed painting record getting Victor in and out of the makeup chair, and Victor’s got a clean five minutes left to jog into the studio and slide into place at the news desk. 

“Thank you,” Sara whispers, leaning across the desk to pat his hand. She’s wearing a deep purple sheath dress that brings out the gem tones in her irises, and the effect is devastating. Victor spares a moment of pity for the straight men in the newsroom.

Chris waves from behind the camera, pulling Victor’s attention back to the teleprompter and the screens, just in time for Yakov to begin the countdown. He squares his shoulders and smiles at the camera, but lets Sara take the lead.

It’s a slow news day. They’re reporting on things that are more celebrity gossip than truly newsworthy, and most of the stories haven’t changed since his five AM broadcast. There are a couple segments on things like restaurants failing inspection and local police fundraisers, and then Sara shoots the ball back to him. 

Victor quickly scans the teleprompter and reads along, “And now we’ll be cutting to our eyewitness reporter, coming at us live from the big game down at Rosemont High School. How are things looking over there, Yuuri?”

The way the new reporter stiffens when Victor says his name is obvious, despite how small the image playing back on the monitor is. “Ah, thank you, Victor,” Yuuri says, recovering fast enough. He turns to display the football field and the scoreboard lit up behind him. The score is 3-2, with the home team in the lead.

It must be a _really_ slow news day if they’re covering high school football. It’s not even close to playoff season yet. 

On the monitors, Yuuri is going into unnecessary detail on the course of the game as Victor tunes him out, rearranging his bangs in a compact mirror he keeps under the desk. The game is in half time, and students in band uniforms and cheerleading outfits are crossing the field behind Yuuri, getting themselves into formation. There are enough teenagers wandering in front of the camera, waving or pulling faces, that no one in the newsroom notices the one blonde boy, out of place in his ripped jeans and leopard hoodie, until it’s too late.

The kid passes in front of the camera, sipping from a big paper cup. As he moves behind Yuuri, he suddenly stops and turns. Victor misses the exact order of events, because the kid is quick and the view of him is partly blocked by other teenagers as well as the angle of Yuuri’s body. In a flash, the paper cup in his hand is upside down.

Yuuri stiffens up, gasps into the mic, and then exclaims, “ _Fuck_!”

The newsroom falls silent as the teenager flees the scene, cackling madly. Yakov starts waving his arms around toward the controls, his face turning from tomato to beet, and the light flashes back onto the camera in front of Victor. 

Instantly, he pastes his smile back on over his shock. “Thanks for that update, Yuuri! Now, here’s Mila with the weather.”

The cameras flip to the green screen and the redhead holding court in front of it, and Victor glances over at Sara. Her ears are tipped with pink, both hands clasped over her mouth to hold in her laughter. A few members of the crew start to giggle quietly, but Yakov quells them with a glare. Beneath the bulky news desk, Victor’s leg is bouncing, jittering with barely restrained energy. 

Live television is wonderful.

The rest of the newscast goes off without a hitch, and they wrap up with a cutesy human interest story about an old woman’s 104th birthday that has even Yakov looking a bit misty-eyed. As soon as the camera light winks off, Sara leans across the big desk to grab Victor’s hand.

“What’s it like on the morning show? I need you to tell me _everything_.” Her eyes are intense.

“It’s only been two weeks,” Victor says, with a laugh that sounds fake even to him. “Besides, doesn’t Mickey already tell you?” 

But Sara is a merciless queen, and she pays no heed to his protests, dragging him into a corner and plying him for every detail he has about how the studio runs in the mornings - and what, exactly, her brother gets up to without her around.

By the time she’s done with the interrogation, the lights in the studio are dim. The only signs of life are the distant echo of voices from other parts of the building, a few employees who haven’t yet gone home or out to grab food. 

Sara pats him on the shoulder and finally releases him, gathering her purse from its hiding place beneath the news desk. “Don’t be a stranger,” she says, same as she did two weeks ago on what was supposed to be his last evening broadcast. He nods dumbly, and listens to her heels click on the concrete floor as she walks to the exit.

The studio is silent, empty and dead for now, until the crew pours back in for the ten PM broadcast. Victor takes a deep breath and pauses to take it all in. It’s rare he gets to see the building without the bustle and noise of a full crew on a time crunch. It’s peaceful. And lonely.

Victor shrugs out of his blazer and goes to hang it up in the dressing room, because it’s one less thing he’ll have to worry about when he comes in for the broadcast tomorrow morning. He pauses in front of the metal door, hand resting on the knob. He can hear the rustling of someone moving around on the other side, and his pulse quickens.

It’s probably just Georgi, but he could have sworn he saw Georgi leave with Chris. He’d seen them, looking over Sara’s shoulder for an escape route, and Chris had only shrugged at him, the bastard. 

Victor turns the door knob slowly, inching it open to peer inside. The dressing room is dark other than the red glow of the emergency exit door, but in the shadows he can see a figure curled in on himself in the barber’s chair by the vanity, arms wrapped around their legs and a dark head pressed against their knees. Their shoulders tremble as Victor watches, and they suck in a harsh breath.

Victor hesitates, then curses himself for it. He should say something - shouldn’t just watch when someone is obviously hurting, but he’s _bad_ at this stuff. He’s not much of a crier himself and never knew how to handle the emotions of others. 

There are still employees in the upstairs office. Maybe he should run and get someone else.

Then the figure moves, raising his head to scrub at his face with a sleeve, and Victor recognizes the shaggy dark hair of their intrepid young reporter. Yuuri. Damn. Victor’s probably the only one here who’s qualified to talk to him about what happened in the live segment.

He shoves the door open wide and fixes his camera smile back on his face to cover for the fact that he was spying. Yuuri jolts and spins to face him as the hinges whine. “Oh, sorry,” Victor lies blithely. “I didn’t realize anyone was still in here. Yuuri, right?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri chokes out, but he’s already scrambling to his feet, turning his back on Victor to hide his face. “I was- I was just leaving.” When he turns back around, his eyes are shuttered behind his blue-framed glasses. Victor can barely see the redness around them in the dark room.

He opens his mouth, searching for the right words to start this conversation. “Live TV is a funny thing,” he begins, and Yuuri winces. 

“Yeah. I’m sure it was hilarious.”

Ouch. Not what Victor meant to say, but Yuuri is already marching past him to the door, and there are no more chances. “It happens to everyone,” Victor calls out at Yuuri’s retreating back, but the last word smacks against a closed door. 

Victor should have asked someone else to talk to him. He drapes his blazer across the back of the chair, not bothering to hang it up for the night, and leaves, turning out the last lights in the studio as he goes.

-

After that, Victor can’t shake a gnawing guilt when he sees Yuuri in the mornings, mostly because Yuuri doesn’t seem like he wants to see _him_. Whether he’s running into the reporter by the coffee maker or in the hall, Yuuri’s always quick to turn away. Though Victor wishes him a bright, “Good morning!” each time, he only gets a nod in return.

At first, he thinks Yuuri is embarrassed, but maybe… Maybe he just doesn’t like Victor. 

He tries to push it aside, because it shouldn’t _matter_. Not everyone will like him, of course. Plenty don’t, and he’s seen the outraged viewer emails that prove it, but for some reason this one lingers, until he finds his mind turning their interactions over for cracks even when he’s at home or out on an afternoon jog with Makkachin. 

Victor’s ready to give it up by the following weekend, resigning himself to the simple fact that Yuuri doesn’t want to talk to him. When he walks through the back door of the studio and sees Yuuri lingering by the breakfast table, perusing the pastries, he makes a sharp right, veering toward the dressing room even though it means sacrificing his morning coffee.

At least, that’s the plan, but Mickey is still in Georgi’s chair, and he glares daggers when Victor steps through the door without any type of peace offering in hand. Coffee and danishes are a necessity if he wants to get anywhere productive with his co-host in the morning.

He slows his step heading back to the kitchen, hoping Yuuri will leave before he arrives. He can hear Yakov grousing all the way down the hall. 

“I told Chris to get the van ready,” the old man says, pausing to take an audible slurp of his coffee. “The parade doesn’t start until ten, but you’ll want to get there early, film some of the setup to broadcast and get people ready to tune in for it.”

“Ah,” Yuuri’s voice is quiet, hesitant. “I can’t. I mean, I can do this, sir. But I have a thing… an appointment! At ten!”

Victor pokes his head around the edge of the open doorway, curious. Yuuri is fidgeting, staring down at the paper plate he’s clutching with both hands, like the donuts will rescue him.

Yakov grunts and doesn’t look up as he refills his coffee. “Another doctor’s appointment? What are you, pregnant?”

“No, it’s-” The lies would be a lot less obvious if Yuuri didn’t keep stumbling over his own words, but as it is, it’s a joke. Victor wonders if he’s always this bad at making up excuses. “It’s my eye doctor! I decided to get contacts.”

The tilt of Yakov’s head betrays his doubt, but he doesn’t go straight for the jugular this time, just slides the coffee pot back into the machine with a clunk before turning to face Yuuri. 

“All right,” he says. The spoon clicks against the sides of his mug as he stirs his coffee. “Go to your appointment, if you think it’s important, but remember we hired you to be a field reporter.” He stops stirring and squares his shoulders, and Victor automatically tenses. 

Calm Yakov - it’s more frightening than the loud version, because it means he’s _serious_. 

“If you can’t do what we hired you for,” Yakov asks. “Then why are you here?”

Yuuri’s head dips. Oh, no. He’s going to cry again.

“Send Mickey,” Victor blurts, and both men’s heads snap in his direction. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but now that the words have left his lips, well, it’s not the worst idea. “I just saw Michele in the dressing room and he was in a foul mood. A little time outside in the sunlight might do him some good.”

Yakov folds his arms as he considers the suggestion. “What? So you can have the spotlight for yourself.”

“No, Mila can co-host. You did promise her you’d let her out from in front of the green screen sometimes.” 

It’s a bit of a dirty trick, but it’s all true. Mila may specialize in weather, but she has grand plans in the long term, and Yakov had sold her on this job with promises that she’d get to sit at the news desk on occasion. So far, he hasn’t been making good on that vow.

The look in Yakov’s eyes is dangerous. He knows Victor far too well to trust that his motives are entirely pure, but the logic is sound.

“Fine,” Yakov grouches. “Fine. Have it your way. Mickey!” He tosses his spoon onto the table and stalks by Victor, making a beeline for the dressing room. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. He’s quiet, but he’s not staring at the ground anymore, and there’s no sign of threatening tears. “You didn’t need to do that.”

Victor finds himself smiling at Yuuri, and he waves the gratitude away with one hand as he walks into the kitchen and heads for the coffee pot. “It’s nothing. Yakov was partly right about me. Mickey _is_ in a bad mood, and I selfishly didn’t feel like dealing with it. Now, you get to stay here.” He pauses to dump a heap of sugar into his cup, then grabs the spoon. “And I don’t have to tiptoe around Michele’s feelings all morning.”

“Well,” Yuuri sighs. “Thanks anyway.”

He turns to leave the room, and Victor winces, realizing he may have stepped in it again. “I didn’t think you were funny the other night,” he adds quickly. “I was trying to help.”

Victor has attempted to say that before - more than once - but this time Yuuri seems to actually hear him. He stops in the doorway just long enough, and Victor rushes to add more. “My first time doing live news, some middle-aged man ran up behind me and mooned the camera.”

Yuuri laughs, then clasps both hands over his mouth, guilty. When he turns to face Victor, his cheeks are red. “Really?” he asks.

“Yes.” Victor’s mouth twists into a sour pout as he remembers it. “And Chris was running the camera so he _zoomed in_. I thought the top of Yakov’s head was going to pop off, he was yelling so much when we got back.”

“What did he do?”

Victor shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing. I don’t even remember the lecture, actually.” He grins slowly, not his camera smile, but the real one, caught up in the recollection. “He showed us the video playback before he started in, and both of us were laughing too hard to hear him.” 

The story works, pulling an answering smile from Yuuri as his hands fall away from his face, and Victor continues, “It really does happen to everyone sometimes. That’s the nature of live television. You can’t predict everything, and you can’t control what others decide to do.”

“So I’m not going to get fired,” Yuuri says, looking up at Victor through his shaggy bangs. Those big brown eyes, wow. No wonder he’s got an on-screen career so soon after college.

Yuuri is still waiting on him, staring expectantly, and Victor swallows. “Nope,” he chirps, then rallies. “Nobody thinks that incident was your fault, so you don’t need to-”

Before he can finish, Georgi sticks his head around the corner. “Victor,” he growls. “My chair is empty, and you go on in twenty!”

Oh, right. Victor is here to work. Whoops. “Coming, Georgi,” he says, slapping a lid on his coffee cup. Still, he can’t resist pausing in the doorway as he brushes past Yuuri on his way, patting the reporter on his shoulder. “We can talk any time,” he says. “Okay?”

He doesn’t wait for the response. At a certain point in rushing to go on air, even Georgi wouldn’t be able to make Victor look presentable.

-

Life gets much easier after that, with Yuuri no longer avoiding him. They rarely get to work together, but they’re always running into one another in the studio. Victor always has a smile and a wave for Yuuri at least, and on rare occasions when they have the time, they can share pleasantries over the pastry table. One morning, when Victor is running late because of an issue with Makka’s dog walker, he finds a coffee on the dressing room vanity waiting for him - a heap of sugar, a dash of milk. Victor clutches the paper cup so hard, he nearly tears it.

It takes him a while to realize what’s so different about all this. After all, they’re only little gestures, a few words of “good morning” here and there, but the answer comes to him one day. He can almost see the cartoon light bulb switching on above his head. 

Victor’s sitting on a bench in the dog park, watching Makkachin chase squirrels. He’s smiling, but it’s not just from Makka’s antics - he’s been smiling all morning, ever since he got to the studio and literally bumped into Yuuri as he came through the back door. They’d both been laughing, boxed in by equipment stacked near the entrance and forced to almost climb over one another to get clear, and the smile from that run-in has roosted on his face ever since.

Even as little as it is, even though it wouldn’t even qualify as friendship, it’s the first time Victor’s had that in- oh. Ages. 

Chris is his friend, of course, but they’ve known one another since their university journalism club days, and Chris prefers to be _behind_ the camera, the dirty voyeur. They don’t see much of each other at work. And Victor always got on well with Sara, Georgi, and now Mila, but they’re very much colleagues. They know almost nothing about Victor off-camera, and he feels no need to change that. 

But Yuuri is different. Even just a wave or a nod from him in the mornings can make Victor feel strangely… close. Like they’re real friends. 

It worries him - the fact that he may be getting too attached. He doesn’t exactly have the greatest track record with that, but then again, this is Yuuri. He doesn’t seem like the type who would hurt Victor deliberately. 

But Victor reminds himself still to take it slow, be easy with Yuuri. He doesn’t want to jump off the cliff blind.

-

Victor’s plan is thwarted before it can even begin when Yakov strides into the dressing room the next morning and drops a stack of papers in Victor’s lap while Georgi is grooming his eyebrows.

“Information for the guest segment today,” Yakov says, because he pretends like the teleprompter was never invented, despite the fact that it’s been around for most of his career.

Victor can’t actually look at the paper anyway, since that would involve moving his face when there are tweezers and tiny razors involved. 

“It’s not a cooking segment again, is it?” He asks, dread growing with each word. He wouldn’t mind them - he never turns down a free snack - but some of the little old ladies who come in tend to take advantage of their age and respectability to get handsy behind the kitchen counter.

Victor relaxes when Yakov shakes his head, but then the producer adds, “It’s an animal shelter. They’ve brought in a couple dogs for adoption.”

Forgetting how close the razors are to his eyes, Victor clutches at his chest and hears Georgi curse. Whoops. Well, he’s not bleeding. They can fill in any bald spots with pencil. Or, maybe it will look like he has a rakish scar.

“Puppies? We get to do a segment with _puppies_?” He should have tried to move to the morning show sooner. Evening news never got to visit with puppies.

“I can’t do it,” Mickey says from the sofa behind him, cutting through Victor’s enthusiasm. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

Of course he is.

“Then don’t,” Yakov grouses. “We’ll find someone else, hm? Yuuri!” It’s hard to miss the old man’s bark when he calls your name. 

A moment later, Yuuri’s head pops into the door frame, cheeks flushed as if he’d been running to answer. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on the guest segment with Victor.” He scoops the papers out of Victor’s lap and deposits them in Yuuri’s arms. “Unless you don’t like dogs either.”

“I don’t hate dogs,” Mickey mutters, low enough that Yakov will miss it. “I have a _medical condition_.”

“Uh, no sir,” Yuuri says, eyes darting from Mickey to Victor and back. “I like dogs, but-”

“Great! Get in the makeup chair once Victor is done and be out in twenty-five. Victor, you’ve got fifteen minutes.” Before anyone can even think of arguing, Yakov vanishes back around the corner, two fingers pressing his headset hard against his ear. 

Mickey hops up from the sofa and heads for the desk as Georgi puts the final touches on Victor’s brows. Once he can turn his head, Victor checks in on Yuuri. As he suspected, the reporter is chewing his bottom lip, eyes distant.

This time, maybe Victor can help.

“Animal segments are the best,” he says. “But they’re even more unpredictable than humans.” Yuuri straightens up, focusing on Victor as he leaves the chair and spins it around, gesturing for Yuuri to take the seat. 

“Everyone knows this when they’re watching, though. If the dogs do something wild, even if they pee on the floor or something, the viewers will _love_ it.” He grins at Yuuri, tilting his head. “Puppies are cute even when they’re bad, right?”

Yuuri smiles back and steps up to the chair. “True,” he admits. 

“It’ll be fun.” Victor pats him on the shoulder. “No matter what happens, you’re getting paid to play with puppies! Just roll with whatever happens and laugh about it later, okay?”

Yuuri nods, and Victor can’t resist touching his shoulder one more time. Then Georgi is elbowing him out of the way, taking over to get Yuuri ready for the bright lights of the studio, and Victor has to go out to take his spot at the news desk.

The stories today are grim - homicides, a fire in an apartment complex, and an outbreak of measles at a local daycare take the top three spots, and it doesn’t get much more cheerful from there. Things aren’t looking good for the Mayor in his pending corruption case, either. Victor knows that it’s important to keep the public informed, but some days the way the news is run is just _exhausting_. When they break away to Mila for weather, he’s more than ready for a puppy-flavored palate cleanser. 

Victor steps over the other section of the set and finds Yuuri already seated and waiting alongside a grey-haired woman in a long dress with embroidered cuffs. There’s an adult dog on a leash looped around the chair - some sort of shepard mix doing his level best to take off and bring the chair along for the ride. He’s a mottled brindle with deep brown eyes and one ear that doesn’t quite stand up, and Victor’s fingers are already eager to give him a good scratch.

Yuuri must have started to befriend the woman from the shelter while Victor was at the anchor desk, because they’re both smiling when he approaches. 

The woman levels her finger at the empty chair with the dog tied to it. “You take that one,” she says.

“No complaints here,” Victor replies cheerfully. He drops into the chair and immediately goes for the dog’s back, giving him a good scritch with both hands. The petting sends clumps of short, dark hair flying into the air, but Victor can’t be bothered to care. If it bugs Yakov, he can send a PA to attack Victor with a lint roller between segments. 

Yakov raises his hand by the camera, signalling that they’re about to switch to this segment, and Victor nods to acknowledge. 

There’s a blue plastic kennel crammed beneath the volunteer’s chair, and she clicks it open, pulling out a pair of squirming black and white fluff balls that can’t be more than three months old. Victor almost misses the delighted sound Yuuri makes over the volume of his own gasp as the woman deposits both puppies into Yuuri’s waiting arms. 

The red light on their camera ahead of them blinks to life, and Victor smiles into the lens, both hands still buried in the big dog’s fur. “We’re here today with Valerie from the Happy Wags Animal Shelter. Valerie, why don’t you tell us a little bit about who you brought along to visit?”

Valerie folds her hands in her lap, composed and straight-backed. “Well, Victor, the big boy you’re playing with there is called Ralph. Ralph is two years old, and he’s been at the shelter for a little over three months. He’d love to have a new family with lots of energy - kids, other dogs, and of course a big yard to run around in.”

Victor nods along at each thing she says, his smile unflinching, though he mentally notes that Ralph here would _not_ be suited for his one bedroom condo. Then, Valerie turns toward Yuuri, and Victor follows.

“Yuuri is holding Remus and Sirius,” she begins, and Victor misses everything after that.

Yuuri has both arms wrapped around the two puppies, who are climbing all over each other in an attempt to reach his face with their little pink tongues. Far from trying to hold them back, Yuuri bends closer, his face split by a smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and pulls a flush to his cheeks. He’s _giggling_ , cameras and viewership forgotten, lost in an adorable assault of doggy kisses.

There’s a pain in Victor’s chest, a familiar roil of sour envy that he hasn’t felt in quite a while. Stupid puppies.

Oh. 

He’s jealous. 

Of the puppies.

Not that he wants to slobber all over Yuuri’s face exactly, but- It’s just that Yuuri looks so _soft_ like this, disarmed by the two squirming pups barely bigger than his hands, smiling and laughing so easily, so happy.

Victor adores that smile.

Someone coughs quietly, and Victor jumps. The teleprompter is paused, and everyone is looking at him. Red suffuses Yakov’s face, climbing for what’s left of his hairline, and Victor’s eyes dart to the words on the screen. 

“Thank you so much, Valerie!” He says, too loud. “For our viewers at home, here’s a reminder of the contact information for the shelter. If you’re interested in adopting Ralph, Remus, or Sirius, you can find their website, email, and phone number listed at the bottom of this screen.”

“That’s all for us.” Victor risks a glance back at Yuuri and finds he’s dropped to the floor, wriggling his fingers on the ground for the puppies to chase. Oh, lord. Victor snaps his eyes back to the teleprompter. “Back to you, Mickey!”

The light on the camera winks off, and Victor lets himself slump back into his chair. 

It felt like a disaster, but then, he’s thought as much before, only to realize later that the viewers never noticed his slip. This is probably another of those cases. Victor is overthinking things.

Valerie comes over to his chair, reaching for Ralph’s leash to take him back to the shelter, and Victor straightens his posture. “Thank you again,” he tells her. “Sincerely. Not just for coming, but on behalf of all the cute dogs.”

“Thank you for having me,” she says politely. Then, she pats him on the shoulder, adding, “You know, I don’t think anyone will blame you for what happened.”

Victor won’t let his smile fall, but he can’t stop the blood from fleeing his face as he groans internally. Maybe it _was_ that obvious.

Something grazes Victor’s shoulder, and he looks up into Yuuri’s lovely warm eyes and soft smile, and his anxiety about the segment melts away.

“It helped,” Yuuri says quietly. “What you said before, in the dressing room. I wanted to thank you.”

Victor’s lips pull up in irresistible answer. “The puppies did most of the work,” he says, distracted by the soft pressure of Yuuri’s fingers still resting on his shoulder. He’s tempted to reach up for that hand, but holds back, conscious that they’re still on set, all eyes on the two of them at the center of the room. He has to keep things understated.

“If you want to thank me,” Victor begins, choosing his words with care. “How about lunch after work today?”

Something flickers over Yuuri’s face - apprehension? Excitement? - and then settles. “I won’t be free until the evening broadcast ends.”

“Perfect! Happy hour drinks instead.” Yuuri still looks hesitant, and Victor adds, “My treat.”

Yuuri laughs. “I thought I was supposed to be thanking you? Why are you buying?”

Victor shrugs, reluctant to say much more and risk spilling his messy desires all over the studio floor. 

“Victor and Yuuri,” Yakov yells. “We’re done with you! Get off the set!”

Victor raises his eyebrows, and Yuuri exhales, eyes darting toward the crew. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, let’s do drinks.”

“Wonderful!” Victor grins. “Meet me outside after the broadcast is over?”

“Sure,” Yuuri agrees, and Victor could swear there’s a flash of smile trying to break through, right before Yakov barks their names once more. They scatter.

Victor leaves the studio, humming the song in his heart. He opts to walk home with his earbuds in, having a sudden desire for sunlight, fresh air, and the company of other humans rather than the dim, dingy trains. The streets are just starting to buzz with busy commuters as Victor leaves, and he takes a brief detour into his favorite coffee shop along the way for a milky tea before the morning rush hits.

By the time he makes it home, he’s lingered enough on the long route that the last of his tea has gone cold. Makka bounces with joy when he comes in the door, then tackles one of her plush toys, growling as she shakes it and runs off, hoping that Victor will chase her.

Victor shakes his head, smiling at her energy, and pulls his phone from his pocket to pause the music. There’s a notification - a text from Chris, which wouldn’t be unusual except that it’s still morning and normally his texts from Chris arrive sometime after ten at night and feature strings of emojis. This one is just a link to the Channel Five News Facebook page.

He flops onto the sofa and opens it. The intern who runs their social media accounts this year is fast - he’s already uploaded the video of their animal adoption segment from this morning. Underneath is a caption that reads, _Did you fall in love with any of our guests today? Let us know in the comments!_

The video starts to autoplay, and Victor turns down the volume. He doesn’t have any qualms about watching himself, but the sound of his own voice coming through a screen is still strange. Now he can see Yuuri sitting somewhat behind him, juggling the two puppies as they try to escape onto the floor while Victor and Valerie introduce the dogs. 

It’s all pretty typical fluff piece fare, right up until the Victor on screen turns his head to check on Yuuri. His face goes slack at first, as if he’s been struck, and then a smile pulls at his lips. His expression is dreamy, unconscious of the cameras or Valerie’s continued spiel on adoption fees and applications. 

Valerie finishes her talking points, and they hit the moment where Victor is meant to jump back in.

Stunned silence. It’s only a few seconds, but with the quick pace that news dialogue normally takes, it’s very much noticeable. Damn. But then, the audience doesn’t know what to look out for so much. Maybe he got away with it.

He scrolls down to the comments section, even though he should know better.

Victor lets his hand fall limp into his lap, staring at the blank wall as Makka trots over to put her toy on his leg, nudging at his fingers with her cold nose. 

So much for thinking the viewers wouldn’t notice. It seems as if half the city already suspects there’s something going on between them. The knowledge is bizarre, but charming. It’s as if the whole city is watching Victor and Yuuri take these first steps, and everyone is cheering them on. 

Victor sighs and buries his hands in Makkachin’s fur, holding her head up to meet her big brown eyes. 

“Am I crazy to do this?” he asks. Makka waves her tail in response, patient as ever with him. If anyone would know the answer, she must. After all, it was Makkachin who had to lick away his tears after the last two heartbreaks; two separate cases with the same verdict - Victor had gotten far too attached, too quickly.

He’d sworn he wouldn’t do that again, but- Makka’s tongue laves the inside of his wrist, and she wags her tail again. Of course, she’s probably only wondering why her human is home but hasn’t taken her out yet, but it feels like more. Victor stretches the flaps of her lips into a doggy grin, and smiles back at her. Maybe Makkachin is cheering him on too.

-

Why, why did Victor think asking Yuuri to meet him at work was a good idea? He waits outside instead of going in, attempting to avoid the judging eyes of their nosy coworkers, but he might as well have walked on set and announced his intent on the live broadcast. 

The crew members who smoke are clustered together in the parking lot at a picnic table, which is fine, except that a suspiciously large number of people who don’t usually smoke have made their way out since Victor arrived fifteen minutes ago. 

Victor knows for a fact that Chris quit smoking after college, and if the coughing is any indicator, Georgi never touched a cigarette in his life before today. And yet, there they are - watching him. 

Victor keeps his back pointed at the table.

The studio door clangs shut, and Yuuri jogs down the stairs. He’s carrying a stack of manilla folders that are bursting at the seams and has a canvas messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Yuuri’s dressed in soft, dark wash jeans and a plain white button-down, and Victor suddenly feels very overdressed in his suit jacket and black dress pants. 

If Yuuri notices, he shows no sign of it. He smiles when he sees Victor, gasping like he ran to get here. “Sorry if I kept you waiting,” he says. “Yakov handed me a bunch of work at the end of the day.”

Victor waves the apology away. “I only got here a minute ago myself,” he lies, studiously ignoring the snorts of disbelief from the smoking section. “Let me help you carry something.”

Though Yuuri protests, Victor scoops the folders out of his arms and settles them against his own chest. It hadn’t occurred to him that Yuuri would have so much work to take home. Maybe he should have brought his car, or offered to take Yuuri home first.

“So,” Yuuri interrupts his thoughts, shifting the messenger bag on his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

Victor opens his mouth to tell him the name, then remembers the evesdroppers lurking nearby. He wouldn’t put it past Chris or Sara to “accidentally” stumble into the restaurant while Victor and Yuuri are still there. 

“Come on,” he says instead, nodding to the sidewalk. “This way. It’s, hm… It’s a surprise.”

The cafe Victor chose is only two blocks from the studio, but it’s not one of the nearby bars that other members of the Channel Five crew will usually meet at after work. Cafe Retour is set a little away from the main street, the entrance hidden on the side of an alley, and it’s more popular for brunch and lunch than a nice dinner, but all of that only lowers the chances that the two of them will bump into a coworker or a nosy viewer.

One of the staff nods to Victor in recognition as they enter. He’s become something of a frequent flyer around here. It’s where he comes when he needs a break from work and some space to himself. The cafe is nearly empty tonight, and a hostess shows them to a two-person booth tucked in the back corner. 

Yuuri looks around as he slides across the red vinyl seat, taking in the framed black and white photos and local art staggered across the cafe walls. “This is nice,” he remarks, in the tone of someone who may or may not mean it.

A waiter brings over a happy hour menu, as well as a second sheet for dinner. Victor orders a vodka tonic, registering the brief flash of surprise flitting across Yuuri’s features before he orders a drink as well.

When the waiter disappears, they lapse into silence behind their menus, and Victor wracks his brain for a good topic to open the conversation with. Of course, there’s the one obvious thing they have in common: work. It’s not the best option for an ice breaker, except for one stand-out opportunity.

“Those puppies today,” Victor says, continuing to scan the menu as if he doesn’t already know what he wants. “Too cute, right?”

When Yuuri blesses him with a smile, peeking over the top of his menu, Victor thrills. “Of course,” Yuuri says. “They were a real handful, though. It felt like I was too busy juggling dogs to participate in the broadcast.”

Victor waves away the concerns. “You did great,” he assures Yuuri. “Valerie had all the heavy lifting handled. Do you have a-”

He was going to ask, _Do you have a dog?_ That would be a perfect segue away from work. Even if Yuuri said no, it was an opening to talk about Makka, maybe pull out his phone and show off some puppy pictures, but instead the waiter choses _that_ moment to pop back up with their drinks and ask about food orders.

Victor cuts his question off and waits while Yuuri orders a soup and salad, then Victor puts in a sandwich for himself. The waiter takes their menus, and Victor turns back to Yuuri, folding his hands on the table to try his question again.

“So,” Yuuri says, before Victor can start. “What got you interested in journalism?”

“What? You don’t think I have a face for television?” Victor flashes his camera smile, which morphs into a teasing grin as Yuuri’s cheeks pink. 

“Did you always want to do television in particular?” Yuuri asks in counter, absently twirling the straw in his cocktail.

“Well, no,” Victor admits. “I wanted to be a writer at first, but-” He shrugs, unsure what else to say about that. Work, dreams, the long journey that one takes from childhood ideals to adult reality - it’s not always the sort of happy story he’d like to tell on a first date. 

Really, Victor would like to get off work topics entirely. He tries, “Does your family live in the area?”

Over the next several minutes, he learns that Yuuri moved here for school, that he originally majored in business and switched to journalism a year in, that he interned at Channel Twelve during his degree, and that an absolutely _fascinating_ accent creeps into his voice with each vodka cranberry he drains. However, Victor still has no idea where that accent is from.

Victor tries once more to get Yuuri to open up, circling back to where they began. “You were really great in that segment today. The audience loved it. Do you have a dog yourself?”

In response, Yuuri’s face clouds. “I did,” he says, and Victor winces internally. “But I didn’t think he’d appreciate being locked up in my apartment while I was in classes all day, and then the crazy work hours that can come with journalism. It’s not fair to the dog, is it?”

Ouch. So much for that topic. He’s dead on arrival, but Yuuri is still talking.

“How do you balance unpredictable swings in the news cycle with having a life?” Yuuri asks. “Where do you find the time for things like dating?”

Victor is tempted to snap back, _apparently I don’t_ , but he holds his tongue and reaches for a more generic answer. 

“Well, it can certainly be a challenge,” he starts. “I’ve had a few relationships that couldn’t understand why I wasn’t available whenever they needed me to be, or why I sometimes had to be at my work laptop even late in the evening on a weekend, but I know others who have had more success.” His mind wanders, distracted by the way the golden light from the sunset outside catches in Yuuri’s eyes. 

“Chris and Georgi used to date, you know?” Victor muses, and Yuuri’s eyes widen in a way he finds deeply satisfying, so he continues. “Georgi hates when I tell this story, because he’s straight, but our schedules are all so crazy, they wound up spending a lot of time together almost by accident.”

“So, they didn’t mean to date?”

Victor shrugs, smiling to himself as he remembers the whole fiasco. It wasn’t funny at the time, but- “Georgi thought they were only hanging out outside of work from convenience. Meanwhile, they were going to dinners, drinks, breakfast. Georgi was sleeping over at Chris’ apartment, for god’s sake. And according to him, he never had the _slightest_ idea those were dates until Chris tried to kiss him!”

He looks up, grinning, and feels heat creep up his neck under Yuuri’s startled gaze. He shouldn’t have told that story. Georgi and Chris both prefer to pretend it never happened. Victor picks up his drink to take another sip and finds nothing but ice rattling in the glass. How many of these has he had? He glances down at himself to find his shirt seems to have lost a couple buttons. Whoops.

Yuuri’s smile is lopsided, almost as sloppy at Victor’s shirt, and his cheeks are slightly flushed as he blinks across the table at Victor. “I just want to thank you again,” he says, that ever so intriguing accent slipping across his tongue when he says _you_ , the vowels stretching out. “Your mentorship really means a lot for me.”

Victor’s heart sinks, and his expression must reflect that, because the dreamy smile falls off Yuuri’s face just as abruptly. Ah, stupid. He’s done it again. Well, at least Chris will be able to sympathize when Victor calls him later tonight - dating someone who never saw him in a romantic way. Someday, it will be funny.

He can see the question forming in Yuuri’s eyes and stands up, catching himself on the tabletop for balance as the alcohol rushes to his head. “Excuse me,” Victor murmurs. “But it’s getting late. I should pay our tab.”

Victor flees whatever words are hiding in Yuuri’s mouth and stumbles to the bar, ignoring the strange look the waiter gives him. Victor comes here often enough to know that he can pay at the table.

“Do you need anything else?” the bartender asks, and Victor’s eyes fall on the dessert case beneath the register, stocked with a variety of pies and pastries.

He acts on impulse, pointing to what he wants to soothe the tightness in his chest, and a few minutes later he finds himself wandering back to their table with a receipt in one hand, but a slice of pie and two forks in the other.

As the slice of chocolate cream pie skids across the table, Yuuri eyes it with the same energy that Makka gives off around Victor’s breakfast in the morning. Victor holds up the forks, offering, but Yuuri puts his palms up.

“No, thank you,” he demures, leaving Victor baffled.

“Really? The dessert here is very good.” To illustrate, Victor takes the first bite, closing his eyes in satisfaction as the rich chocolate coats his tongue. 

When he opens them, that hungry look is back in Yuuri’s eyes, directed at _him_. Victor turns away to hide the heat in his face, reminding himself that it’s only the dessert that Yuuri is interested in. 

“I want it,” Yuuri admits. “But I can’t. I put on weight too easily.”

“Really?” Now that he’s started, Victor can’t resist stabbing a second bite, but he’s more interested in the tidbit Yuuri’s dropped than the food. It’s the first personal information he’s really gotten from Yuuri all night. “You’re in great shape,” Victor adds, the work-appropriate version of what his alcohol-steeped brain wants to say.

Yuuri smiles, looking down at the table. “Thank you, but… yes. I was quite chubby as a kid, until I started to exercise more.”

“So is it just sweets you love, or food in general?”

“In general. My mama is the most amazing cook. Every time I go home, she makes all my favorite dishes, and I come back in pants with an elastic waist.” Much to Victor’s delight, Yuuri then picks up the second fork, stabs the pie, and takes a bite. His eyes widen as soon as his mouth closes, as if the chocolate on his lips is a _surprise_ , but he comes back for more.

With two of them sharing, the pie quickly disappears, and all that’s left is Yuuri, the pink tip of his tongue visible as he licks the last smears of whipped cream from the tines of his fork.

Victor checks his phone and finds that it’s already after nine. The cafe is empty aside from the two of them and the staff, and it seems likely to close soon, so Victor stands to retrieve their jackets and bags. He watches Yuuri closely as he hands over his dark brown blazer, noticing the way Yuuri doesn’t quite stumble, but wobbles when he stands, his brow furrowing as he fumbles with the buttons on his jacket.

“Where do you live?” Victor asks. “Nearby?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Too expensive. I’m out near Brightwood.”

Victor winces. That’s not an easy commute. Damn. He should have asked before picking a dinner spot, but- “Let me call you a cab,” he says, already pulling up the number on his phone.

“You don’t need to,” Yuuri insists. “I can take the bus.” He seems very certain, but his buttons are crooked, and he’s got both hands clenched on the back of his chair. Victor ignores him, and orders the taxi anyway.

Outside, night has fallen on the city, and the downtown bustle is bright with headlights and street lamps. The business suits of the daytime commute have been replaced with cocktail dresses and hoodies, and the lunch joints and coffee shops have switched out for bars and music venues. 

Victor smiles at the scene, wistful. If things had gone better, he’d been hoping they’d move from the cafe to a club by now, ending the night somewhere with a bit less talking. There’s a snappy melody floating down from one of the bars across the street as they wait for the cab, and Victor can’t resist tapping his toe, bobbing his head to the beat.

“Do you dance?” Yuuri’s voice startles Victor, who looks over to find Yuuri watching his feet closely. 

“I used to,” Victor admits. “I did ballet growing up, and then a little contemporary later.”

“Me too.” Yuuri’s smile is beaming. “Ballet when I was younger, and then-” He cuts off for a minute, bright red as he lowers his voice, muttering, “Contemporary.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Victor’s pondering that slip, wondering if he should ask, if it will make any difference given how little Yuuri’s shared about his personal life this evening, when he feels Yuuri’s hand on the crook of his elbow.

Yuuri’s still wearing that wide, lopsided smile, just a half-step away from the sweet look he was giving those puppies, as he tugs on Victor’s arm. “Hey,” he whispers. “Dance with me?”

Victor glances around. They’re standing on a sidewalk, with few other people around. It’s a far cry from a dance club, and the cab should be here shortly. There’s really nowhere _to_ dance, but Yuuri’s still pulling at Victor’s arm, sliding his grip to take Victor’s hand in his own. His fingers are warm and light against Victor’s palm, and Victor takes his concerns, bundles them up, and drops them out the window.

 _To hell with it_.

They dance to the fading thread of a distant beat, the club so far away that they can’t distinguish the words or the song. Victor’s arms are loose around Yuuri’s waist, but Yuuri holds on tight, gripping Victor’s hand, his shoulder, as if he has no intention of ever letting go. 

At some point, the music down the street stops, or it switches, and then the only tune they’re dancing to is the beep of the cars stuck at the nearest red light, the shouts of college kids fighting and laughing on the sidewalks nearby. 

That’s how the taxi finds them, an eternity later.

It pulls up to the sidewalk in front of them, flashing the headlights, and they break apart like a pair of teenagers caught standing too close at a school dance, but Yuuri doesn’t loosen his grip on Victor’s hand. 

Victor takes a deep breath, heaving it out. “Your coach is here,” he says, faux-chipper. “Get in, before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Yuuri’s hair is tousled from the dancing, and Victor reaches up, straightening the strands carefully. Yuuri tilts his face up toward the light, a tempting picture, and Victor kicks himself internally. _Not a date._

“Thank you for joining me,” he says instead, and Yuuri smiles.

“Thank you for the drinks,” Yuuri says. “And the advice, although I think I won’t be thanking you for the drinks at work tomorrow.”

Victor laughs it off. “You’re still young,” he says. “You’ll be fine. I, on the other hand-”

The taxi driver beeps and flashes his headlights at them again, still waiting, and Victor starts to disengage his hand from Yuuri’s. 

As Victor pulls away, Yuuri darts in. Warm lips press into Victor’s cheek - chaste, brief, but firm and unmistakable. A _kiss_. 

Victor knows he’s staring, tries to gather his wits up from where they’ve fallen, scattered on the sidewalk around him, but Yuuri is already sliding into the back seat of the cab, hand raised behind the tinted window in a barely visible wave.

The cab pulls away from the sidewalk and leaves Victor alone in front of the cafe, his fingertips pressing into the spot where Yuuri’s lips left a tattoo on his skin.

-

The next morning is a headache in every sense of the term. There’s a throbbing - light, but insistent - behind Victor’s temple, constantly reminding him that he’s no longer twenty-two, and that having more than two drinks was a serious mistake. 

Yuuri’s not in the kitchen when he arrives at work, and he nearly collides with one of the interns coming through the door. The studio is in chaos, with employees jogging from room to room, talking a steady stream into their headsets, so quick he can barely catch what they’re saying. 

Yakov catches him by the arm as he walks to the dressing room, fingers tight on his elbow. “Where the hell have you been?” he demands.

“I’m on time,” Victor protests, wincing as the volume of Yakov’s voice kicks his headache in the crotch. “I’m early!”

“Not today,” Yakov says. He turns Victor and pushes him toward the makeup chair, where Georgi is already waiting, bouncing on his toes. “Mickey’s out sick, and news just broke that the grand jury may be indicting the Mayor on corruption. I need you at the courthouse downtown twenty minutes ago.”

Victor plops into the chair and Yakov turns his attention to Georgi. “Do whatever you can do,” he says. “And do it fast.”

Georgi nods, radiating resolve, and Victor closes his eyes to let the man work his magic. Of course he stayed out late the night before this. Of course he has a hangover for the biggest local news story in the last decade. There’s nothing he can do about it. 

His phone buzzes against his leg, and he fishes it out, glancing down at the screen. It’s a missed call from Makkachin’s dog walker. His stomach does a flip. Oh, god. Everything must always happen at once.

Victor hits redial to return the call, but Georgi is shoving at his shoulder. “You’re done,” Georgi insists. “Get up. That’s as good as it’s going to get!”

Victor hops out of the chair, still focused on the illuminated screen of his phone, where the call is ringing, ringing… it goes to voicemail.

“Yuuri!” Victor looks up and finds Yuuri standing at the end of the hall, coffee cupped between his hands, frozen mid-step by the snap of Yakov’s voice. “Go with Victor. I need all bases covered when this verdict comes out.”

“I’m not camera ready,” Yuuri says. His eyes dart around, looking at anything but Victor and Yakov, and Victor has no idea which of them Yuuri is trying to avoid. _That kiss, though._ Does he regret it?

“You can get ready on the way,” Yakov says, then turns to bark orders at Georgi and Chris.

It’s a whirlwind, but somehow in all the chaos Victor finds himself riding shotgun in the news van, with Chris behind the wheel while Georgi kneels in the back seat, no seatbelt, trying to slap foundation onto Yuuri’s face in the spare seconds between bumps in the road. With no consideration for their safety, Chris squeals through a yellow light, and Victor grabs for the bar above the window.

Behind him, something hits the floorboards with a _thunk_ , but Victor’s not sure what - or who - it was, because his phone is once again ringing through to the dog walker’s voicemail.

There are two other news vans already parked on the street outside the courthouse when they arrive, and Chris whips the van around, shoving them into a diagonal between the others that is very, very illegal. He throws the parking brake on and jumps out without cutting the engine, leaving Victor and Yuuri scrambling to catch up and get ready as he unloads the equipment from the back. 

Georgi hops out with them and helps Victor mic up for the broadcast. Over his shoulder, Victor finally catches Yuuri’s eye. Yuuri’s cheeks pink, but he smiles shyly, and Victor feels one weight lift from his shoulders. 

“Hi,” Victor says, like a genius.

“Good morning,” Yuuri murmurs in return before looking away again.

“My god,” Chris says, slamming the van doors shut. “Are you two even functional? Victor, are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” Victor says. He straightens his collar and adjusts the clip-on mic, following Chris toward the courthouse. 

They set up just off the sidewalk, away from the other news reporters, where hopefully Christophe can get a good angle on both the building and anyone who exits after the news breaks. Chris gets his camera fitted to the tripod, then checks his phone.

“Verdict’s out,” Chris announces, just as the other news groups also erupt across the lawn. “The grand jury is indicting.”

Victor grins at Yuuri, waiting beyond the camera, and feels his phone start to vibrate against his leg. He freezes. Biggest news story of the decade collides in his brain with the instinctive panic of a possible dog-related emergency. 

He grabs for the phone, sees the dog walker’s name, and rips off his mic. It should take a few minutes for anyone to get outside from the courtroom anyway. He has time.

“Victor-” Chris exclaims, but Victor’s already dropping his microphone into Yuuri’s hands.

“I have to take this,” he shouts, jogging past them to another part of the park, ignoring the cries in his wake. 

Once he’s out of the immediate vicinity of the courthouse, he thumbs over the phone screen to accept the call. “Hello?” Victor gasps, out of breath from rushing away. “Amanda? What’s wrong?”

“Hi, Mr. Nikiforov,” the dog walker answers, chipper as ever. “How’s it going?”

Victor groans but fights to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Sort of busy here today. Is this an emergency?”

“Nope! Just a heads up that Makkachin knocked over the garbage before I got here. I think she ate some paper, but I didn’t see anything dangerous in there.”

Victor thinks back to what he’s eaten at home in the past couple days, mentally comparing it to the list of toxic dog foods. He comes up blank. “No,” he says. “It should be fine. Is that all?”

He turns back toward the courthouse. The ornate double doors to the building swing open, and the mayor himself walks out, flanked by bodyguards and attorneys. Between himself and the courthouse, Victor can see Yuuri frozen like a deer in oncoming traffic. 

Cursing to himself, he hangs up the call without saying goodbye and starts to run back, but Chris is already grabbing the clunky old Channel Five handheld mic from his equipment bag and pushing it into Yuuri’s hands. 

Victor is still a few feet away when the recording light on the camera flashes on. Yuuri straightens up, clutching the microphone.

“Good morning,” he says. “This is Yuuri Katsuki from Channel Five News, coming to you live from the city courthouse, where a grand jury has just indicted Mayor Feeley on charges of corruption and bribery.”

Victor skids to a halt just behind Chris, who turns and winks at him, as if getting Yuuri in front of the camera was the plan all along. There’s another cascade of sound as Mayor Feeley’s escort continues down the sidewalk, and Yuuri turns, thrusting his microphone into the cluster of bodies around the mayor. 

“Sir,” he calls out. “Any comment on the verdict?”

“Yeah,” the mayor yells over the objections of his lawyers, red-faced and practically steaming. “If I’m going down, then I’m taking half the _goddamn_ city with me, and the governor too! No one gets out of this alive!”

The mayor’s escort closes ranks, hustling him away as Yuuri turns back to the camera, wide-eyed and a little breathless. “Uh, there you have it,” Yuuri says. “It looks like Mayor Feeley has just implicated the governor herself in a major crime on live television. We’ll have more coverage as the situation progresses. Back to you, Mila.” 

Yuuri lowers the mic, and his eyes meet Victor’s over the camera. A brilliant grin splits his face, his eyes dancing in the morning light as he throws his arms out in triumph. 

“I did it!” he crows, and Victor can’t resist - he dives past the camera, throwing himself into Yuuri’s open arms. As their lips meet, Victor has a brief flash of fear, but then Yuuri’s hand tangles in his hair and Yuuri tilts his head, lips parting in welcome. They stumble, but don’t fall, and Victor gets his arms around Yuuri, clutching him just as close as he’s been wanting.

They pull apart slightly, but then Victor catches a glimpse of that same beautiful smile he’s been thinking about ever since the puppies, and he has to shower Yuuri’s face with more kisses even as Yuuri laughs, squirming in a half-hearted attempt to get away.

Over Victor’s shoulder, Chris coughs quietly. “Excuse me,” he says. “Hello? We’re still rolling.”

Yuuri goes stiff in Victor’s arms, petrified as he sees the blinking red light on the camera, but Victor can only laugh, dropping his forehead onto Yuuri’s shoulder to hide his red face from the viewers. _He loves live television._


End file.
